you try to push me away
by staringatstars07
Summary: Jim's sick. He doesn't want to be and he doesn't want to admit he is but fact's are facts. And if he's somehow managed to catch a cold on Vulcan, it could only mean he'd brought it with him. (Adopted!Jim series #2)


**A/N: Since this is officially part of a series, the recommended order for reading would be _not my blood, still my brother_, _you try to push me away_, and _i thought i'd take care of you._**

* * *

First things first, Jim would testify under oath that he didn't mind living with Spock. There were certainly advantages to going to school with a prodigy, though Jim was adamant when it came to doing his own homework, and unlike most of the Vulcans Jim had encountered, Spock tended to be sympathetic when it came to emotions, even if he didn't always completely understand them himself.

That didn't mean he didn't have his moments of superiority, intentional or otherwise, but he was trying, and that was something Jim could appreciate.

What Jim didn't appreciate, however, was constantly being informed of his own limitations. It seemed like no matter what he did, Spock was always ready with a quick reminder of his dietary or physical needs. From the recommended amount of caloric intake for a human his height, weight, and age, to daily exercise regimens for optimal fitness, it seemed the Vulcan boy always had a pearl of wisdom ready for how Jim could best take care of his own body.

Most of the time, Jim tried to tune him out. Spock was acting with the best intentions, after all, even if he truly was starting to dance on Jim's last nerve, but when he woke up one morning with the unpleasant realization that he couldn't breathe through his nose, it became imperative to hide his symptoms. Even if Spock didn't say anything, Jim just knew he would take him coming down with some bug as undeniable proof that humans couldn't be trusted with their own welfare.

In order to keep his sickness a secret until it went away on its own, Jim decided to wear a thick, wooly scarf, wrapping it around his mouth to muffle how nasally he sounded when he spoke. It wasn't until dinner that night that an unexpected sneeze foiled his careful ruse, as Spock swung on him like a hound with a scent.

"Jim," he began uncertainly, oblivious to Jim's efforts to sink through his seat, "what was that?"

Jim scrunched his nose, feeling another sneeze coming on. "What was what?"

* * *

Though their mother took it in stride and Sarek didn't appear concerned, Jim could feel Spock's eyes boring into him for the remainder of dinner, his own frustration rising as a result.

When their plates were nearly polished off, he muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Would you quit looking at me?" Spock glanced at him in muted surprise, one of his brows lifted in silent question. Sarek seemed to notice the exchange, observing how Spock's deliberately guileless expression contrasted with Jim's increasing exasperation.

He fixed his son with a stern frown. Spock acknowledged the wordless chastisement by subtly inclining his head, "I am merely trying to ascertain the nature of his ailment, Father."

"It's called a cold, Sherlock. There's nothing wrong with me. I'll be right as rain in a couple days."

"If there is nothing wrong as you say, then why are you not in optimal condition?"

Keenly aware that they were very much in earshot of their parents, especially Sarek, Jim swallowed down a venomous retort. "I said I was fine," he managed through gritted teeth, "and I meant it. Now drop it."

"You are becoming defensive. A clear indicator that you know that I am-"

Their mother cut him off. "Both of you boys need to drop this. Spock," she said, her gaze softening as she addressed him, "Jim might be coming down with something called the common cold. Humans get them all the time where we come from. Or, it could be nothing. I'm sure you've seen me sneeze before. But just in case, Jim, why don't you go put on a sweater?" Grumbling incoherently under his breath, Jim rose from the table to dig through his closet for his least wrinkled sweater, otherwise Spock was going to nag him about cleanliness and bacteria breeding grounds until he gave in and cleaned his room.

As he walked away, his throat began to itch. He clapped a hand over his mouth, smothering the sound of a junky cough. He forced himself to swallow, grimacing. "Gross."

While Jim was busy rummaging through his belongings, Sarek picked up on Spock's not-quite quelled concerns. He shared a glance with Amanda. "Your mother," he started, noting his wife's encouraging hand gestures with a grateful nod, "came down with rhinopharyngitis multiple times as a child. However, as you can see, she grew up hale and healthy. And if I dare say it, your brother has a streak of stubbornness that rivals even your mother's." Though Amanda affected indignance, he could sense the comparison delighted her. "It would take a truly impressive virus to contend with the likes of James Tiberius Kirk."

* * *

That night, Spock and his mother cleaned up together. Sarek had to respond to a summons, while Jim had turned in early. Once they were finished, Spock fished his PADD out of his backpack, then carefully typed in Jim's symptoms: Moodiness, irritability, nasal congestion, and headache.

"According to my research," Spock glanced up from the kitchen table to make sure his mother was listening, "it is vital that Jim find a mate soon."

"Nice try, Spock. Humans don't have the same reproductive cycles as Vulcans." She scanned his PADD with amusement. "You've made two mistakes. The first is you're not going to find the correct results in the Vulcan Encyclopedia of Medicine, and the second is you listed irritability and moodiness as symptoms. It's skewing your research."

"Are irritability and moodiness not symptoms?"

"Of being a ten-year-old boy? Yes. Of having a cold? Not quite."

Spock frowned. He thought he understood, though it seemed strange that Vulcans, who were so similar to humans in appearance, would have so many biological differences from their Earth counterparts. Vowing to return to continue his studies at a later time, Spock powered down his PADD, devoting his full attention to his mother when he inquired, "What is the cure for the common cold?'

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. "That's a very good question." She made a thoughtful sound. "No one really knows. It's a tricky virus, you see. Always changing. Adapting." Then she placed a hand on Spock's shoulder, a soft smile on her lips as she bent to place a feather-light kiss on his brow. "Maybe, one day, you'll be the first to discover it."

* * *

Jim woke up the next morning with a cough that literally stole his breath away. Whenever he stopped long enough to steal a gulp of air, it burned in his chest, like a monster trying to claw its way out.

Despite his vehement protests, Mrs. Grayson made sure to call the Learning Center to let them know that Jim wouldn't be attending lessons that day, something he was sure the other kids would tease him for, and since Spock still had classes, he had to spend most of the morning alone, except when he was forced to choke down awful tasting medicine.

Those were all minor complaints, though. So minor he felt kind of bad for even having them. From what he remembered, Frank never would have let him stay home from school. He'd jumped on any chance he could find to accuse him and Sam of being lazy, ungrateful good-for-nothings. No wonder Sam decided he'd had enough.

Less than thirty minutes after school let out, Spock appeared in his doorway, his perpetually sleek black bangs askew. Jim gawked at him, "Did you run here or something?"

Spock grabbed a chair from Jim's desk, dragged it to his bedside, and sat down, "I wouldn't say ran. Rather, it would be more accurate to say I walked here from my place of learning at a moderately brisker pace than average."

"Your mom could have gone to pick you up if you'd asked." Actually, Spock's mother would do anything he asked for, which was such a departure from every other adult Jim had encountered in his life he still wasn't quite sure how he felt about it yet, besides confused. Silence followed his statement, however, and Jim soon lost interest, mostly thanks to the clogged up feeling in his head and nose making it hard for him to think. Sweat soaked his brow, and he shivered, distracted by disjointed and conflicting sensations of heat and cold. Burning in his cheeks, throat, and chest made him want to tear off his blanket and pour a gallon of water over his head, but every patch of skin his sweat touched was freezing.

At this point, he couldn't say for sure if he wanted to dunk his whole head into a bucket of ice or throw himself into the sun.

He breathed as deep as he could manage, wheezing harshly on the exhale. Spock wordlessly rose to his feet to tuck the sheets under the mattress, making it even more difficult for Jim to throw them off. "Are you sure you should be so close to me?" Jim asked unhappily. "You're going to catch what I have, at this rate."

"As the Ambassador's son, I was inoculated against most human diseases as a child."

Sinking deeper under the covers, Jim made a show of rolling his eyes. "Of course you were."

And for a moment, he thought that would be the end of the conversation. Spock would leave and Jim would be alone, free to cough and sniffle and wheeze to his heart's content. But Spock didn't stand, nor did he seem to be in any hurry to.

"Are you getting the recommended seven hours of sleep?" He inquired suddenly. "Have you been drinking eight glasses of water daily? The recommended calorie intake for a boy your age is-"

"Jeez, Spock, lay off, would ya? It's not my fault I caught a cold!" A violent coughing fit folded Jim in half. He clapped a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to smother the sound, his eyes darting nervously to the door. It petered out, eventually. Leaving a high-pitched whistle in his chest that started and stopped in time with Jim's labored breathing.

Glassy-eyed and dazed, Jim shifted to look at him, spots of unhealthy color in his cheeks.

Seeing Jim lying down for any extended period of time when he was still awake was a new experience for Spock. He'd already decided he didn't like it. "Do you have any idea how you came into contact with this contagion?" Maybe he could alert the school - there was always a chance that the Science Academy could isolate the virus, and if anyone could develop a cure-

Spock cut himself off mid-thought when he realized Jim was speaking, "Who knows?" The boy shrugged miserably. "I'm the dirtiest thing on this planet. Maybe I brought it with me?"

Spock abruptly rose to his feet, nearly toppling over his chair in his haste to stand. "That's not true!" He forced himself to take a deep breath before repeating in a softer, more subdued tone, "That is not true. Mother would be saddened to hear you speak in such a self-deprecatory manner."

"But not you, right?" Jim scoffed. "Must be nice."

Following that, the atmosphere became unexpectedly tense. After sneaking a peek at Spock, Jim realized he'd crossed a line. Unlike the kids on Earth, Spock had a tendency to show even less of his emotions when he was upset, and right then, he might as well have been carved from stone.

Jim gripped his sheets tightly, knuckles turning white. "Why are you even here, Spock? You must have better things to do than stand around staring at me being miserable."

Everyone expected such great things from Spock. His accomplishments were a testament to the ingenuity and innovation of the Vulcan race, and even though Sarek never said it so much in words, Jim could tell he was proud of him.

How could a human charity case like him case ever hope to compare to that? Unlike Spock, the teachers didn't look at Jim and see potential. They just saw an unwanted child, a kid who was lucky to be alive thanks to the benevolence of Ambassador Sarek and the boundless compassion of his bond mate. And maybe they were right not to expect anything from him. The accelerated curriculum was years ahead of Jim's previous school. It took all of his concentration just to keep up with the other kids, and taking a day off for a silly little cold was going to put him behind for weeks!

So why, then, did Jim have to feel bad for Spock, a boy just like him except he had everything he could have ever asked for?

Watching him, Spock replied with a grave expression, "You are saying things you don't mean because you are approaching pubescence." Jim blinked several times, hoping against hope that this was a nightmare and Spock hadn't actually just said what Jim thought he'd said. "However, that does not change the fact that what you have said is both very foolish and misguided. Vulcans are as capable of care and affection as anyone else." And he stared at Jim, as though willing him to understand something he couldn't bring himself to say, or didn't know how to say. "As I am sure you remember," he sucked in a quick breath, though his voice remained steady, "my mother is human."

Then he turned around and strode out of the room, leaving Jim to stew in his shame. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Spock had his challenges, too.

Wasn't Jim supposed to be the son of some great hero? And weren't heroes supposed to make things better? If that were the case, then why did he always mess things up?

Maybe his mother should have dropped him off on some godforsaken desert planet in the middle of nowhere instead.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jim's looked up to see Spock standing in the doorway, his arms full with a tray, on which sat a steaming bowl of soup and a cold glass of orange juice. Noticing Jim's gobsmacked expression, he offered a slight shrug. "Mother was making your dinner in the kitchen. I could smell when the soup was ready, however I thought it prudent to give it several minutes to cool before fetching it for you."

He placed the tray carefully over Jim's lap, then returned to his seat, and while Jim tentatively sipped his soup, which was cool enough not to burn but hot enough to warm his stomach pleasantly, Spock began to talk about what he was learning in school. He mentioned mathematics and science, ancient history, and new technologies that would make the ever shrinking universe even smaller, and Jim listened. Soon, his lids began to grow heavy, and with his belly full, he drifted off to sleep, his head packed full with dreams of Vulcan heroes teaching algebra and robots doing battle among the stars.

* * *

**A/N: Let me just say that I really appreciate all the support you've shown for this series. Stay tuned!**


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